From three to five in one fell swoop (scoop?)

Life

I would listen to Baby Shark for them or watch this nonsense. Or Masha and the Bear which is on Netflix now (and dubbed into English), but was only on YouTube back when Will Jr was three or four years old and he would sit and watch this show as all the characters spoke Russian. Will doesn’t know Russian. He still watched it, over and over.

I’m getting off on a tangent which my wife hates with all her being. I’m doing it again.

Anyway, like I was saying, I don’t like my kids. Sometimes. Not all the time, just some of the time.

Like tonight when my wife went off to run to the store and meet up with a friend. No worries, I’ve been with the kids by myself plenty of times and had no problems.

I’m not saying they were little monsters, but, I mean, I told Eric he had to stop running and he growled at me like he was in the new Godzilla movie and he was about to battle Mothra or some shit.

As I attempt to sternly tell Eric “you don’t growl at Daddy!” I was interrupted by Nora snatching Will Jr’s blanket and running away with it. So Eric is growling at me like a damn rabid dog, Nora is running out of the living room cackling and Will Jr is running top speed after her.

So I tell Nora to stop running, didn’t yell, barely raised my voice.

Tears.

What did I do to deserve this? For the rest of my life she is going to do this to me and I will never not (double negative and I don’t give a fuck) feel bad. Sometimes I give her a sharp look when she is saying or doing something she shouldn’t and I get, “w-why are you yelling at me?”

Jesus Christ. What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Will continued to run and Nora was stopped, standing still in the kitchen. I was yelling at Will to stop running and Nora to stop crying all while Eric provided soothing background growls.

I did stop Will from smashing into Nora and kicking my night into that extra special territory we rarely see.

Long story short, Will got his blanket back, Nora stopped crying and put her pj’s on herself (shocking) and I had to forcibly get Eric into his pj’s. Don’t underestimate the sheer strength of a small child that really doesn’t want to do something.

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I keep giving reason’s why, excuses really. I had a teacher in high school that when presented with a poor excuse from a student he would say, “You have a hundred excuses, but not one good reason.”

Therein lies my truth. I want to play video games, or watch a tv show, or the kids or the wife or….

One hundred good excuses, not one good reason.

So here I am writing a blog post about why I have been whining about not being able to write a blog post.

Or something like that.

I have wanted to write about things in my life that have passed, like my dog Prince having cancer and dying, or the infertility that is now my twins, or my love of Fudge Rounds (never mind, I did this one, kinda), or how my wife just bought a new lamp for the living room! No really, it’s great.

The reason is writing about what I would like to write about it mentally draining. I think so intensely while I am typing about what I want to say that by the time I am finished I legitimately feel fatigued.

But writing is cathartic. It is for me. So to the four or five people that will read this, I will be putting forth an effort to fight the fatigue and write more. I have missed it.